Tapestry
by Elizabeth Anthony-Ashley
Summary: Final chapter in "The Amaranth Series"--an AU, gothic tale using the characters from "The Amaranth Series," all of them somewhat familiar, but also completely different. (sexual content, adult language, character death, occult)


"Tapestry"--Part 4 in "The Amaranth Series"  
  
Note: Events in this story have no bearing on the events of "Family Ties That Bind," "A New Player In the Game," and "Next 100 Years." This is an AU side-step, using the same characters, but in a totally different setting and context. This is a gothic tale that is just used to give the series some flavor.  
  
  
  
Another time, in another place with people who seem familiar, but also completely different…  
  
Prologue  
Morning fell on McMahon castle, but the darkness from the night remained, as though trapped in the many long and winding corridors. The peasants in the village not far from the castle called it "Chateau de noir"-Black castle. The tales from the village said that once someone entered through the front gate, they could leave, but their soul never did. Supposedly, no light entered into the castle. Sometimes, in the winter, snow would fall only on the castle grounds, an expanse that stretched a hundred acres wide, and fifty acres long. Screams from the  
"other world" could be heard at night. And the people who lived at Black Castle, they were another story…  
  
The patriarch of the McMahon line, Vincent, was nearly 75 years old, though it was whispered he had forged a deal with the devil that enabled him to live from centuries before. Others thought he was the devil himself. He was an intimidating man, with a large powerful chest and dark eyes that could burn a hole through stone. He looked incredible for his age. His good looks were startling and lead many young women of the village to his bed. When they returned, however, they were not the women they were when they had left. They returned detached and distant, as though they had given up a piece of their immortal souls just to share a bed with Vincent McMahon for one night.  
  
Vincent's one and only wife, Linda, had died many years before in a tragic fire for which most blamed Vincent himself. It was rumored that she had been having an affair with Vincent's dearest and most trusted friend, Michael Hickenbottom, whom most people called Shawn. Instead of confronting his friend, people said he just killed his wife in a jealous rage. Not a tear had dropped from his eye when his wife died, they all claimed. He had no heart, and was, therefore, incapable of feeling remorse or grief.  
  
Vincent had two children with Linda-Stephanie and Shane. Stephanie, the younger of the two, was an invalid who lived in one of the McMahon castle's four towers. She had been afflicted with a strange fever during her late teenage years that had left her stark raving mad.  
Groundskeepers had often seen her wandering the interior gardens, mumbling and ranting in foreign tongues. She was a lunatic, Vincent had told all his servants. Pay no attention to what she says. More than once, Stephanie had cornered the stable hands and shouted that her father had killed 100 men and drank the blood of children. No one believed a word she said, but for some reason, her outrageous claims didn't seem too farfetched.  
  
The heir to the McMahon fortune, which was incredibly large by all estimates, was nothing like the rest of his family. The people didn't fear Shane. He had a gentleness about him that seemed unnatural in a McMahon. He was a respected man in the small village, though they knew that he did have a streak of the McMahon temper in him. Shane could turn from docile to volatile in a matter of seconds, though his intense anger rarely showed itself. For those who didn't see him on a regular basis, his appearance could be quite startling. His skin was ghostly pale. The myth surrounding him was that he had been born in the distant fields of the McMahon property on the night with the highest recorded snowfall in history, and it had been marked in Shane's pale skin.  
  
Shane had three children, a set of triplets. The twin boys looked exactly alike and exactly like their father, but that was where the similarities ended. Shane Brandon McMahon Jr., called simply Brandon by those who knew him, was as kind and gentle as his father. His brother, Cage, however, was simply a different story. He seemed to have inherited the demeanor of his grandfather, and the two were extremely close. The third child in the set of triplets was a girl, an unnatural creature named Hannah, who was said to dabble in witchcraft and commune with the spirits on the nights of full moons. She floated through the world as though she were somehow above the rest of the common people. She was a raven-haired beauty, and used her attractive features and intoxicating personality to get whatever she wanted.  
  
But the most intriguing, yet at the same time, sinister member of the McMahon family was Shane's wife and adopted sister, Amarantha. Vince had found her lying on the roadside when she was a newborn, and took her home with him. Linda had immediately adored the child and claimed her as her own. Looking down at the new baby girl, Vincent had bestowed a name on her that would have more relevance later as the girl-child grew. He named her Amarantha Lorelei, meaning "immortally alluring." The allure that would surround the child later in life was to be the downfall of many men, including her adopted brother, Shane.  
  
The two were close, but it was whispered that there was more between them than just the love that existed between siblings, and the rumors were proven when Amarantha announced that she was pregnant with Shane's child. When three children were born instead of just one, it was believed that there was the work of the supernatural afoot. Shane married Amarantha just before the children were born, much to the disapproval of the local religious creed. It didn't bother the young heir; he was used to having people look down upon him.   
  
The McMahons lived quietly for years after the birth of the triplets until 17 years later when news reached the village that Shane McMahon had died quietly in his sleep of natural causes. An unholy wail rose up from the depths of the McMahon castle that could be heard in the town two miles away, and that was when the darkness fell over the estate. Some felt that it was one half of Amarantha McMahon's soul that was dying with her husband, brother, and true love, and that it had caused the blackness that settled over the land. They were soul mates, and when one died, the other experienced the same thing on a spiritual level.  
  
They claimed she had gone mad, that she had become an evil creature without mercy or feeling. Amarantha was stunningly beautiful before Shane had died, and her looks only grew more radiant after his death. It was never reported that she took any lovers, though a large number of moderately wealthy landowners from surrounding areas wanted to take her as their wife. Shane had been the heir apparent, but in his will, he gave everything to Amarantha. When Vincent himself passed into the other world, everything he owned would go to her. She had no interest in any of the men who came to court her. She turned them away with an icy shoulder, but not before they had bestowed lavish gifts on her.  
  
Amarantha McMahon was a woman who knew what she wanted and how to get it.  
  
  
  
Part 1  
Jean Paul Levesque stood in the main hall of McMahon castle, his hands tucked into the pocket of his breeches. He had been a friend of the McMahon family for years, and a close friend of the late heir apparent, Shane. It had only been half a year since his friend's passing, and the grief he felt was still ever-present in his heart. Shane had been his best friend, and there would be no one to replace him. Jean Paul was at the McMahon estate on the request of Vincent, who had sent him a cryptic letter asking him to come to the castle. Jean Paul had an amazing amount of respect for Vincent. He was an incredible man, no matter what the stupid peasants of the village said. The man he saw was no devil. He could be harsh, but he was not evil.  
  
He shivered in the semi-darkness of the main hall. Jean Paul hated waiting alone in the castle. It was always dark. The heavy velvet curtains that covered the windows hadn't been opened since Shane's death, and the soft glow of the hundreds of candles that lit the household gave everything a slightly ominous feel.   
  
His eyes drifted up to the main landing of the castle's grand staircase. Hanging on back wall of the main hall, just above the landing were enormous paintings of each member of the McMahon family. Vincent's portrait was at the very top, closest to the ceiling. It depicted him well, but Jean Paul couldn't ignore the determined look on his face in the painting that made him look somewhat…evil. Linda's portrait sat beside that of her husband. Jean Paul smiled. Linda had always been such a kind woman. He found it hard to believe that she had been having an affair with Shawn, but Vincent would never be convinced otherwise, but he wasn't to blame for Linda's death. Jean Paul had been in Vincent's presence when the fire that killed the lovely woman had started.  
  
The McMahon children's portraits sat just beneath their parents'. The one of Stephanie, in the days before her illness, was on the right. Jean Paul shook his head. Stephanie had been such a wonderful young woman, and Jean Paul had secretly been in love with her. After she took sick and became the crazy shut-in, all those feelings had stopped. He still had a place in his heart for her, but they were feelings of a time long gone.  
  
Shane's portrait was beneath and to the left of his father's, and Jean Paul felt a twinge of sadness as he looked upon it. I miss you, Shane, he thought sadly before flipping his eyes to the portrait beside that of Shane.  
  
The frozen eyes staring down at him peered into an even more frozen soul. Amarantha McMahon had been the sweetest child, a captivating teenager, and an absolutely irresistible woman. Though many men adored her, her heart would forever belong to Shane. She had always adored him, and he had been a prisoner of her love until his death-probably longer. Amarantha had probably found a way to haunt him even in death. Since his death, however, she had become a totally different person. The sparkle was gone from her eyes and was replaced by a fiery anger that frightened even Jean Paul. Everything about her had changed since Shane's passing, most noticeably being her appearance.   
  
Amarantha had the most beautiful hair Jean Paul had ever seen. It was long and wavy, and she had always prided herself on in, wearing it down on her shoulders. The day after Shane went into the ground in the McMahon family cemetery, she emerged from her bedchamber as someone different. She wore extravagant gowns, most of them in a rich purple, ornate jewelry, but she had put her hair all up on the top of her head in a tight bun and wore it that same fashion every day. She had become diabolically silent, and her demeanor became one that was not pleasant. When she looked upon anyone, even the children that she had so adored, it was with a look of apathy and indifference. She spoke with harsh words to everyone, especially her father, and she was ruthless when it came to dealing with matters concerning the estate and the family fortune that would be hers sooner or later. Jean Paul had been present when the headmaster of the house brought in a servant accused of stealing. Amarantha didn't give the man a chance to defend himself. She simply turned her nose up and ordered him to be thrown in jail, but not before she had them cut off his hand. Since that day, Jean Paul hadn't looked at her in the same way. Whatever had happened to Amarantha had changed her for the worst.  
  
Below the portraits of Shane and Amarantha were three smaller portraits of the triplets. Hannah looked like her mother, with an unearthly aura that always followed her. Hannah always had her own agenda, and Jean Paul thought it was better to leave her alone. If she was involved with the black arts, it was better to say nothing at the risk of her turning whatever power she might have on him. Brandon and Cage looked like two replicas of Shane, and looking upon them always shot Jean Paul straight to the heart. Brandon was just like Shane, but Cage was somewhat less congenial than his twin brother. He was close to Vincent, and Jean Paul guessed that some of his grandfather's habits had rubbed off on the boy.   
  
Taking one last glance at all the portraits, Jean Paul concluded to himself for the hundredth time that the McMahon family was one of a kind, and despite their faults and oddities, one that he was happy to call his friends.  
  
"Paul," the voice of Vincent's best friend Shawn echoed through the otherwise silent hall. "It's nice to see you again, old boy."  
  
Jean Paul turned to see Shawn entering from one of the two side halls, a friendly smile on his face. His blonde hair was pulled back neatly, and he was dressed stylishly, as always. Jean Paul smiled. "As it is you, my friend."  
  
"What brings you here?" he asked, extending his hand.   
  
"The big man sent for me," Jean Paul replied, shaking Shawn's fist. "I don't know what this meeting is about, but he said it was urgent."  
  
Shawn nodded with an air of knowledge. "Indeed, it is."   
  
"So, what's going on?" Jean Paul asked.  
  
"All will be revealed momentarily," Vincent's deep voice resonated as he entered from the opposite side of the hall. Jean Paul smiled. Vincent was walking with the aid of a cane, a lasting effect of a nasty fall he had taken from his horse, Diabolique, two weeks before on a hunting trip.   
  
Vincent smiled. "I'm glad you could make it, Jean Paul. I need to speak with you about a very important matter."  
  
Jean Paul opened his hands. "Here I am, so let's talk."  
  
"I don't suppose you'll be talking about the children's birthday party, will you?"  
  
The three men all turned and looked to the landing of the grand staircase. There stood Amarantha, clad in a beautiful watered silk gown in that familiar shade of purple. She looked down at them hatefully, and then began descending the stairs. They all watched her, captivated by her graceful movements. Something about her demanded attention, and she always received it.  
  
Amarantha approached Jean Paul, a tight smile on her pretty face. "How lovely to see you, Jean Paul. I see you still come running whenever my father beckons."  
  
Before Jean Paul could respond, Vince grumbled, "He didn't come here to see you. It's none of your concern. Now run along and amuse yourself."   
  
She glared at her father, her smile fading. "Oh, I am rather amused just watching you try to act intimidating in front of Jean Paul. I, unfortunately, have business to conduct, myself. I'm sorry I can't stay to watch the three of you try to shake your feathers to impress one another." She gave a curt bow to the three of them. "If you'll excuse me."  
  
They watched her exit into the hall from which Shawn had come out, and breathed three sighs of relief once she was gone.   
  
"She is so damned cold, Vincent," Shawn groaned, putting his hand on the back of his neck.  
  
Vincent nodded gravely. "Aye, she is that, but don't you remember what she was before this?" He smiled fondly. "She was joy in the flesh."  
  
Jean Paul nodded. "That she was."  
  
Vincent was quiet a moment, staring off distantly. He shook his head suddenly, as if too clear off any troubling thoughts, then looked back to Jean Paul and Shawn. "Anyway, we have business to attend to, gentlemen. I suggest we retire to the study where we can speak in private."   
  
Jean Paul put his hands up as Shawn and Vincent began to walk in the direction of the study. "Wait, I can't stand this. What is this meeting about, Vincent?"  
  
Vincent looked in the direction his daughter had gone. "It seems Amarantha is the harbinger of enlightenment."   
  
Jean Paul arched an eyebrow. "The meeting has to do with Amarantha?"   
  
Shawn and Vincent exchanged looks. "Most definitely," Vincent replied.  
  
Jean Paul didn't like the sound of his old friend's voice.  
  
  
  
  
Amarantha sank down to her knees in front of Shane's tombstone. His name stared up at her and looked deep into her soul. Dearest Shane, she thought, fighting back tears. This world is so cold without you to warm me.  
  
She laid a flower on his grave after pressing it to her lips. It was a not yet fully bloomed amaranth, her namesake, the flower that was supposed to live forever. Why couldn't you have lived forever, Shay?  
  
Amarantha bit her lip, her eyes narrowing. There was McMahon that seemed to live forever, and miserably, it wasn't Shane. Since she had become Shane's wife, Vincent became like less her father and more like her enemy. After the "I do's" had been spoken, his attitude toward her had changed. He was cold, and seemed to have lost all interest in his adopted daughter. He adored the children, however, especially Cage.   
  
Since her mother's "untimely" death, Amarantha had always thought that her father had grown to resent her. She had been Linda's favorite, and anything that Linda liked, Vincent had begun to hate. It seemed that included his youngest daughter.  
  
Every meeting was another fight. They tore at each other mercilessly, each trying to outdo the other. They rarely spoke without trading words. It had never been like that when Shane was alive. Her father had been so good to her when she was young. He spoiled her beyond imagination, and he told her that he loved her every day, countless times. Amarantha couldn't remember the last time she had heard those words leave her father's mouth.  
  
She shivered as a cool breeze blew passed her, moving the loose strands of hair that had fallen out of the bun. Pushing herself up off the ground, Amarantha dusted off her dress and sighed. No matter how many times she visited his grave, daily if possible, and no matter how many times she said good-bye, it never quite sank in that he was gone. They never had a chance to say good-bye before he had died, and Shane never left without saying good-bye. In that sense, he was still with her-somewhere.  
  
She turned away from the grave and smiled at the sight of the man approaching her. He was dressed all in black, moved without sound, and stood seven feet tall. His long hair hung down to his shoulders, and the eyes that looked at her were like stone.  
  
"Mark, my dear friend," she whispered, her voice low and deadly. "I was beginning to think that you weren't going to show." She leaned forward, and lowered his head. His lips felt cold as she pressed hers to his. When they broke, he lifted his head and stared down at her.   
"Faithful until the last."  
  
He bowed curtly to her. "Of course, my lady."   
  
"You know why I've summoned you," she said as more of a statement than a question.  
  
Mark nodded again.  
  
"The children will be eighteen in less than a week," she whispered, looking back at Shane's headstone. "You have your instructions."  
  
"Yes, my lady, but this thing that you ask of me," he replied cautiously.  
  
"Now is not the time to doubt me, dark angel," she hissed, whirling on him. "This is the most crucial time. One moment's hesitation, and he will know." Her dark eyes narrowed. "He will make his move at the triplets' birthday celebration, this I know. My sister told me as much."  
  
Mark grinned. "The Lady Stephanie is not the lunatic they profess her to be."  
  
Amarantha bit her lip, a sly look in her eye. "Indeed. Such knowledge that she possesses could be dangerous if anyone knew of her power. I have that taken care of, however, though, my dear sister doesn't exactly enjoy living in the tower."  
  
He crossed his arms over his chest. "You amaze me, Amarantha."  
  
She shrugged. "My sister is inconsequential at this point. She won't be able to stop me, and as far as I know, she has no desire to do so. There is no one to stand in my way."  
  
"What about the ever gallant Monsieur Hickenbottom?" Mark asked, raising an eyebrow.  
  
Amarantha rolled her eyes. "He is taken care of, trust me." She peered at him. "What about you? Do you sense anything that could present a problem?"  
  
Mark stood up straight, and his eyes rolled up into the back of his head. He remained that way for almost a minute as Amarantha waited patiently. Once his eyes had rolled back to their proper place, he took a deep breath.  
  
"There is something," he whispered, staring at her. "Some new force aligned with him. It could be the one to stop us. We must make haste to discover and destroy it before it has a chance to do the same to us."   
  
Amarantha nodded, and then sighed. "As always, you are a wonder."   
  
He smiled. "All for you, my lady."  
  
"I will see you in one week, my darling," she whispered. He bowed, and Amarantha watched him walk towards the woods behind the cemetery and seem to disappear into them. She didn't realize she was holding her breath until her lungs were about to burst. She shook her head.  
  
Whenever she saw him, which wasn't often, he sent a charge of excitement into her. He was dark, mysterious, and yet…   
  
Amarantha turned toward Shane's headstone, suddenly feeling as though he was watching her. She smiled and shook her head as if answering an unspoken question. "No one else but you, Shay. No matter what I do, no one else."  
  
The wind kicked up suddenly, and on the edge of it, she felt Shane. She watched with joy as the amaranth lying on the grave opened and bloomed.  
  
He still loved her.  
  
  
  
  
Vincent sat back in a chair in the empty study and breathed a sigh of relief. Shawn was walking with Jean Paul around the grounds of the estate. He finally had a moment of peace. Things were going exactly as planned-no, better. The agreement had been struck, the contract that would seal her fate. No one could stop him.  
  
He stretched out his left leg, groaning at the dull pain coming from his knee. Damned horse, he cursed silently. The injury was just time's way of saying that it was running out for him. He had managed to keep the hacking cough that kept him up night a secret from everyone.   
It would do no good to have them worry about his failing health.  
  
Vincent McMahon wasn't afraid of death. He wasn't afraid of anything-except maybe failure and weakness, though he felt the two were closely related. Weaknesses lead to failure. He had been taught to be strong, to never falter no matter what the circumstances. Weakness was not an option where his father was concerned. Vincent scoffed. His father, the Judge, was the only devil he had ever known. He taught his sons to be proud, respectful, and above all, strong. He had instilled the same values into his children, and the results had turned out marvelously-all except for Stephanie, the disappointment. She had been too weak, and it had driven her mad.  
  
Shane was his greatest achievement. He possessed every quality Vincent had wished for, along with a few extras that made being the son of Vincent McMahon easier for him. The people never ran when he rode up the street, but they knew better than to cross him. Shane was the perfect secret weapon-evil intents behind an angel face. Vincent had plans for Shane.  
  
Linda, the devil woman, had interfered in those plans. She didn't want her son to grow up into the man his father was, and she did everything in her power to keep Vincent from putting his son to use. Vincent shook his head. She had to be eliminated; there was no other choice. He had tried to cry at her funeral, to make it seem as though he was heartbroken, but it was impossible. The damned whispers of the village had already done their damage. They branded him as a murderer. Of course, the brand was deserved, but he didn't need the whole country knowing.  
  
Once Linda was gone, Vincent was free to do with Shane as he pleased-or so he thought. Linda had foiled his plans even from her grave. Shane was already too far gone. He was good at heart, and there was nothing Vincent could do to change him. Shane was still a success despite his shortcomings  
  
Vince's eyes narrowed. Then there was Amarantha. Just the thought of her name made his blood both boil and freeze in his veins. In all actuality, she had been a bigger success than Shane. She was intelligent, beautiful, merciless, and manipulative-all the things a woman had to be to survive. What got to him was that she used all of her talents against him. Every time she walked into a room, everything about her screamed, "I don't need you!" to him. Everything she did was to spite him, to make sure he knew that she didn't need the one who had built everything around her. Ungrateful brat, he thought.   
  
It hadn't always been that way. He adored Amarantha when she was a child, the way he adored all of his children, even Stephanie. When she was a child, Amarantha did need him for everything. She was totally dependent on him for survival. As soon as she was old enough to take care of herself, things started to change. She challenged his authority at every turn. It was a power struggle between them. Imagine the incredulity of a father having to best his daughter for control! It was ludicrous!  
  
The final straw had been when Amarantha and Shane-God save him, when they were together and created the triplets. A faint smile crossed Vincent's face. He had no biases against the little darlings. They ensured that his name would carry on forever. Brandon and Cage had grown up to be strong, tough young men, and the girl, Hannah, would be more powerful than any of them could imagine. Vincent didn't understand the dark arts that had a hold of his only granddaughter, but he knew that they worked for her, in their mysterious ways. She would be a force to be reckoned with when her time came.  
  
Still, the fact remained that the triplets had been born because Shane had been weak and had given into the temptations of the flesh-given into Amarantha. She had entranced him. It was almost disgusting to see the way he followed her around when they were young, and then to watch them stand at the altar and be joined as man and wife? It was a crime against God. Not really incestuous, but still, it made his skin crawl to think of it.  
  
She had been Shane's downfall, and fate had cut him down just as he was starting to come around and realize just what the McMahon name was worth. If Amarantha was a threat to him while Shane was alive, that threat had doubled since his death. With Shane gone, she had nothing left to live for or lose. The triplets would be adults come next week. They could take care of themselves. With his last will and testament, Shane had given his sister-bride everything, all the money and all the power. Once Vincent himself was gone, she would be rich enough to own the whole province if she wished. All she had to do was wait for his health to give out completely--or kill him.  
  
Either way, Vincent McMahon would put up a fight.  
  
  
  
  
Amarantha heard the dinner gong ring as she was re-entering the house after her visit with Shane, and, of course, with Mark. She walked into the dining hall to find the entire family, plus Jean Paul and Shawn, seated at the long table.  
  
Vincent looked up at her, unfolding his napkin. "Glad to see that you could join us, my dear," he said dryly.  
  
Hearing the words 'my dear' come from her father's mouth was like someone was pulling out Amarantha's fingernails. She managed to hide her repulsion as she walked to her seat beside Jean Paul. "You didn't tell me that our guest was staying for dinner," she said icily, carefully lowering herself into her chair near the opposite end of the table as Vincent. The seat at the very end had been Shane's, and no one had sat in it since his death. It was a haunting reminder of him that Amarantha faced at every meal. The only other empty seat at the table was that of Stephanie.   
  
"Oh, Amarantha, our guest will be staying for dinner," Vincent replied, sipping his wine.  
  
She fired eye-daggers at him, wishing that she had a more lethal weapon to hurl at him. She put on a smile and turned to her children who all sat across the table from her. "So, children, are you looking forward to your birthday celebration?"  
  
Brandon took a bite of food before answering. "Of course, Mother. Don't we always?"  
  
Amarantha nodded. "Indeed you do."  
  
"Have you decided what kind of party it will be, Mother?" Cage asked, looking sideways at her.  
  
Amarantha looked down the table to her father. He wanted to throw the children a formal ball, with all the rules of etiquette that came along with it. "Yes, darling," she replied as he refused to meet her eye. "It will be a costume ball."  
  
Vincent's head shot up as the three children chattered on excitedly. He licked his lower lip and shook his head then returned to his meal without a word. Amarantha smiled victoriously.  
  
"Oh, Mother, that will be positively lovely," Hannah gushed, fumbling with the emerald orb necklace at her throat. Mark had given it to her upon their first meeting.  
  
"Yes, darling, it will, but you must get to work immediately and decide what costume you each will wear," she replied smiling at her dear daughter.  
  
"I know what my costume I will wear," Brandon said abruptly, looking up from his meal.  
  
"What's that, son?" Vincent asked, breaking his momentary silence.  
  
"The outfit Father wore in the portrait in the main hall," he answered plainly.  
  
Amarantha looked at her father with a slight smile playing across her lips. "That is absolutely perfect, darling."  
  
Vincent suddenly pushed away from the table, stood up, and stormed from the hall, throwing his napkin on the floor. Shawn and Jean Paul who had been silent for the duration of the meal, exchanged glances. Shawn stood up and bowed to Amarantha. "If you'll excuse us, Amarantha…"  
  
Amarantha nodded as Jean Paul stood and bowed. They quickly exited the dining hall, scurrying after Shawn's mentor. She turned back to the triplets who were acting as though nothing was amiss, the way they had learned to do over the years.  
  
Hannah looked up at her mother. "Mother, what will you go as?"  
  
Amarantha smiled, pushing the untouched plate of food toward the center of the table. "Oh, it will be a surprise, darling. You just wait until your birthday, and then you will see."  
  
Cage smiled. "I'm sure you will look positively ravishing, Mother. You could wear bed linens and still be the most beautiful lady at the ball."  
  
Amarantha leaned across the table and squeezed Cage's hand. "Thank you, my darling."  
  
The triplets all beamed at her, and suddenly, they looked like three replicas of Shane.  
Amarantha's heart ached.   
  
  
  
  
Amarantha slipped into her bedchamber that evening after making sure that the children were in their beds. She said good night to them each in turn the same way she had every night of their lives: Dreams will show you things unknown; now sleep, and know you won't dream alone. Her mother had said that rhyme to her when she was little. It was one of the last memories she had of the woman who loved her so much.   
They wouldn't be children for much longer. In less than a week, they would be adults. Her babies were grown, and soon they would fly away from her forever, leaving her with only the memories of a love grown cold and a man whom she despised. Things would change.  
  
She closed the door behind her and put the candle on the table beside her bed. The soft glow of the candle bathed the room in dull orange light. Quickly, she stripped out of her dress without the aid of her chambermaids and changed into the expensive silk nightgown that had already been laid out for her. She left the dress in a heap of purple silk on the floor. She would never wear it again.   
  
It was only then that she noticed the shadowed form of Michael Shawn Hickenbottom seated at the open window.   
  
She gasped when she saw him, sitting with his white shirt unbuttoned to the waist, and blew out the candle.   
  
"Did I scare you?" he whispered, turning to look at her. With the room plunged back into darkness, only his profile was visible, outlined in ivory moonlight.  
  
She shook her head. "Nothing scares me."  
  
"So I've come to believe," he responded, standing up from his seat. Slowly, he advanced on her, moving gracefully across the room. She could barely see him in the darkness.  
  
"You let me change in front of you without announcing your presence?" she accused, her jaw set.  
  
He nodded.  
  
"I should have you beaten within an inch of your life for that," she hissed.  
  
Shawn stopped only a few inches from her. He licked his lips. "Only if it is you who holds the strap," he whispered.  
  
Amarantha lunged forward, crushing herself against his muscular chest, and pressed her lips forcefully against his. He gurgled a sound of protest in the back of his throat, and then put his hands in her hair, ripping it out of the bun, and yanked her back roughly.  
  
"He would kill us if he knew," Shawn hissed menacingly.   
  
She bit her lower lip, wincing slightly at the pain he was inflicting on her, and shook her head. "He would kill you. He can't touch me. You, on the other hand, are expendable."  
  
His eyes flared with anger, and he pulled her hair harder.  
  
She almost yelped, but bit her lip again, hard enough to draw blood.   
  
"You like the pain, don't you?" he whispered, leaning forward to lick the blood from her lip.   
  
"Not as much as you like giving it to me," she growled.  
  
He pulled harder.  
  
She winced, but didn't cry out in pain.  
  
"It's almost like pleasure to you, isn't it?" he asked, loving the sight of her at his mercy.  
  
"It's better," she replied. "Would you like to know why?"  
  
"Of course," Shawn answered, pulling on her hair again.   
  
"Because as much as you hurt me, I'll never cry mercy," Amarantha hissed. "I'm far stronger than you, Shawn. Hurt me as much as you like. I'll only come back for more."  
  
Shawn looked at her for a moment, hardly believing the words he was hearing.  
  
"You'll never beat me, Shawn," she whispered, "the same way your beloved mentor will never beat me. Why don't you save yourself some trouble and do what you know you're dying to do?"   
  
"What?" he asked, unlacing his fingers from her hair, leaving it in a tangled mess. He slid his hands down the sides of her face to the soft flesh of her neck. He put them around it, squeezing until he heard her gasp quietly. "Squeeze your pretty little neck until all of the life just oozes out of you?"  
  
She smiled and then turned her head just enough to press a soft kiss to the flesh between his thumb and index finger. The slight flinch he gave in response to her tender gesture was enough to tell her that she was winning. "Just remember one thing while you're doing it," she whispered softly.  
  
"What's that?" he asked, loosening his grip on her.  
  
"You'll never be like he was," she snarled viciously. "You're just another roll in the hay to me."  
  
With strength that even scared him, Shawn grabbed Amarantha by the shoulders and shoved her onto the bed. Her head hit the mattress and bounced, alarming him for a split second, until she lifted her head and chuckled. "You'd sink so low as to hurt a woman?" she asked innocently, swinging the leg that was hanging off the mattress.  
  
He stepped toward the bed, looking down at her. "You're not a woman," he responded coldly.  
  
"Then what am I?" she inquired, the strap of her silk nightgown slipping off her smooth shoulder.  
  
Shawn licked his lower lip. "You're a goddess."  
  
As soon as the words left his lips, Amarantha sat up and grabbed him, gathering the material of his shirt in her fists. She pulled him down on to her, pressing her lips to his. Shawn suddenly grabbed her by the wrists and pushed them roughly to the mattress. "I don't want to be like he was," he growled, his eyes flashing. "I want to be like I am."  
  
She smiled as he released her and took the soft material of her nightgown in his hands. With one quick, strong pull, the precious material ripped down the middle, exposing her naked flesh to his eyes. "You could never be what he was," she hissed.  
  
"And what is that?" Shawn raged, grabbing her by the hair again. "A sniveling coward who let his wife have complete control of him?"  
  
"It tears you apart to know that even when I'm with you, I'm always thinking of him-wishing it was him inside of me instead of you," she replied, ignoring what he was saying. "You're nothing to me."   
  
He chuckled and shook his head. "You're not so sure about that any more, are you?"  
  
Amarantha didn't answer. She carefully slid her leg up onto the bed, walked her foot up his chest, and then kicked out, pushing him away from her. "I never say things that I don't mean," she replied. "You are nothing, Shawn."  
  
Shawn placed his hand on the silky skin of her long leg and slid it up to her thigh. He smiled as he felt the flesh beneath his hand quiver, anticipating his next move. "You're right, Amarantha. I am nothing…without you."  
  
She scoffed. "Pathetic."  
  
Her word added fuel to the furious blaze already burning inside him. Enraged, he ripped the torn silk out from beneath her and then hastily removed his shirt. She watched him, looking almost uninterested. Her look changed, however, as he put his hand between her legs and dragged it up the length of her body, stopping at her mouth. He stretched out one finger and put it against her lips. She opened her mouth and sucked on it a moment before biting down hard.  
  
"Damn you, woman!" he shouted, locking his hand back around her throat, pushing her into the soft mattress. He rose up to his knees and used his free hand to undo the button on his breeches, already tight against him. Once he was free of them, he took her other hand in his, interlacing his fingers with hers. He took the other hand away from her throat and placed it under her back, lifting her up as he rammed himself inside her roughly.  
  
Amarantha arched her back and gasped, squeezing his hand until his knuckles were white. Her legs locked around him, pushing him farther inside her. He pumped hard against her, almost losing it as her tight muscles closed around him. "Harder," she whispered, licking her lips.  
  
He complied, helpless to deny her anything she wanted. He thrust again and again, the twisted look of ecstasy and anger on her face horribly arousing. He loved that it infuriated her that he could please her.  
  
"Did he ever fuck you like this?" he growled, thrusting inside her harder and deeper than the times before it. "Did he?"   
  
"Harder," she repeated with a devilish grin, her breath growing short. It was then that he realized that she wasn't telling him to thrust harder; she was telling him how Shane, goddamned Shane, had done it. She was determined to make sure he knew that even though they were together in the most intimate way, she was still thinking of Shane.  
  
Shawn thrust harder, trying his damnedest to erase the memory of the ghost that hung over them both, and with each thrust, she began to pant. She barely made a sound, no admissions that he was pleasing her other than a shortness of breath that could be as easily achieved with a run through the field. In spite of herself, however, she writhed against the mattress under his power-it was the only time he thought he might have it over her.  
  
He had to reaching his peak, unable to hold it back any longer. With one last thrust, her body reached its pinnacle as well, but she didn't make a sound. He spilled his seed inside her and then lay down beside her, breathing heavily.  
  
She brushed the loose strands of his hair off his forehead and sighed contentedly, pulling him to her. "You see, my darling, Shawn," she whispered as he was drifting off to sleep. "I'll never give in to you. Never. You may think it's a surrender, but I'll fight you until I can't fight any more. I'll never beg for mercy because I could never give it to you. He understood that."  
  
"I'll never understand you, Amarantha," he mumbled.  
  
"Good," she replied, and that was the last thing he heard before slipping into sleep.  
  
  
  
  
Amarantha lay in the darkness, idly playing with a lock of Shawn's hair. She smiled at him as he slept. It had been so easy for her to break him down until he was begging and whimpering for her touch. Men like Shawn were ruled by what was between their legs, and women like Amarantha ruled with what was between theirs. Lust was a powerful ally to her because it was so easy for her arouse it in all the men around her. Even Mark, in all his strength and power, crumbled when she touched him. They had only been together once, shortly after Shane's death, when she was first introduced to the dark magic of his world. Amarantha sighed. Mark, she thought, the demon angel. He brought her so much joy because they were the same kind of people-used to having people bend to their will. Though neither one would admit it, they were victims of each other's power. She tried with all she had to hide the fact that she was ready to sink to her knees in reverence the same way he tried to hide his absolute and total devotion. Tried was the operative word. He had always failed and gave her whatever she wanted, just like every other man.  
  
Amarantha's gaze again drifted to the man sleeping with his head on her chest. What she had told him had originally been true. When they first became lovers, it was only to spite her father. Since then, she had grown attached to him, though he would never know that. It was attachment and nothing more for no matter how many men she took to bed, they would never compare to Shane. She would never love any of them the way she had loved-still loved Shane. Sex was nothing. It hardly mattered to her when it wasn't with Shane, but it was her weapon, and she used it whenever she needed to get something she wanted. There was no guilt in her soul over being with other men. Shane knew that she would never love anyone else.  
  
Shawn, however, had recently become more important in her plan. He was her father's closest friend, and would most certainly be a contributing factor in her father's master plan. What that plan was, she did not know, but whatever it was, Shawn would be useless to him and he would never know it until the most crucial time. Amarantha had made sure that Shawn would be loyal to her, though she knew of his loyalty to her father. She could give him something that her father couldn't, and it was the thing that ensured he would not turn on her when it mattered.  
  
Something still tugged at her mind. Mark had sensed it, and told her that there was some new force aligned with her father. It haunted her like Shane's ghost, and since Mark had told her of it, it was the only thing on her mind. She needed to speak with her sister.  
  
Careful not to wake him, Amarantha slid out from beneath Shawn and slipped into a dressing gown and robe. Cinching the waist, she slid her foot into a pair of slippers, and quietly turned the doorknob. She didn't need a candle for Amarantha knew every inch of the McMahon castle like the back of her hand. The whole house was silent except for the occasional sound of the house settling. It was eerie, and had she not been accustomed to it, it might have frightened her.  
  
Amarantha padded silently down the grand staircase, took the left corridor to the kitchen, and slipped out the servants' entrance into the interior courtyard. She could see the light in the west tower window and proceeded to the tower entrance. It seemed Stephanie rarely slept, for the light usually remained in the window all through the night.  
  
The stairs leading up to Stephanie's room were dark and damp, and Amarantha moved quickly to be out of them. The door at the top was open, and she entered silently. The room was a cluttered mess, as always, filled with ancient books, relics of days gone by, and several sketchbooks filled with macabre drawings. In the corner, Amarantha saw that the curtains had been pulled half way around the wash tub, and she could see the top of her sister's head peeking out, wet strands of her long, dark hair hanging down in her partially revealed face.  
  
"Hello, sister," Stephanie rasped, not looking up at Amarantha. "What brings you here so late? Is Shawn asleep?"  
  
Amarantha bit her lip. That was one of the problems with her sister's mind power. She knew things without being told, but had never said a word to anyone about Amarantha and Shawn. "Yes, he is. I need to know what you see. Mark told me that there is a force working against me."  
  
Stephanie leaned forward and looked at her. "The Dark One knows much, and I feel the same as he," she replied, scooping water up into her hand.  
  
Amarantha was repulsed by the sight of her sister's grayish skin. Since her illness, the sibylline girl's appearance had slowly deteriorated. She had never looked as bad. "What is it?" Amarantha asked, stepping closer.  
  
Stephanie peered at the water in her hands. "Much destruction do I see--The Captive, the Raven, and the God-sent. Blood fights blood, but water is too weak to combat. One ends with a silver reckoning, the other responsible and punished by the braid. The remaining struck down by the source in chance. With them signals the end, and all shall fall there after. Piety shall be the savior of one, and wrath what damns another. The emerald star keeps the other safe, but not saved, and he that bridges will resurrect. None shall 'scape the messenger, who will walk again and bring forth the fury of the beyond on the night of the full moon." With that, she sank back into the tub in silence.   
  
That was the other problem with Stephanie's gift-it was usually vague and never made sense. Here Amarantha was in the middle of something that could very well mean her life, and Stephanie was growling about ravens and messengers and silver reckonings. More often than not, her prophecies revealed themselves just as it was too late.  
  
Amarantha turned and started down the stairs. Stephanie would speak no more about the subject, and there was no use in begging. As she re-entered the courtyard, the sun was just beginning to peek over the horizon. Shawn would be gone when she returned, and for that, she was glad. She couldn't bear to face him afterward. They had been lovers since Shane's one-month death anniversary, but she still was affected by the natural awkwardness.  
  
She turned, and in the far corner of the courtyard, she saw Mark. He had been watching her, and when she saw him, he began walking toward her.  
  
"Such an early visit to the Lady Stephanie must warrant something of great importance," he whispered.  
  
Amarantha shivered, his presence making her suddenly colder. She wrapped her arms around herself and nodded. "She has made a prophecy."   
  
His eyebrows arched. "And what has she said?"  
  
Amarantha rolled her eyes. "A lot of the same nonsense, as always, but something she said made me apprehensive. She said, "None shall 'scape the messenger who will walk again and bring forth the fury of the beyond on the night of the full moon." The night of the full moon is the same night as the triplets' party."  
  
He nodded. "She knows that something is afoot."  
  
She shook her head. "Anyway, what are you doing here? I told you that I would see you next week, and it is not safe for you. If anyone should see you…"  
  
"I was summoned by the girl-child," he replied instantly. "We had…business."  
  
"What manner of business?" Amarantha asked. She didn't like the idea of Mark and Hannah associating privately.   
  
"She needed my consultation on her costume for the ball," he answered. "That is not the real reason that I came, however. My brother has requested to aid me in the task you have set for me."   
  
Amarantha's jaw nearly dropped. She hadn't seen his brother, Kane, in years. He was a recluse, hiding because of the horrible disfigurement he suffered in a fire. "Really?"  
  
Mark nodded slowly. "It seems he has a score to settle, and this is the perfect opportunity."   
  
Amarantha thought for a moment. If too many individuals were involved, there was more of a chance that things could go wrong. Kane, however, could be very useful. She nodded. "Very well, but be sure that he knows what is to be done. There can be no mistakes."  
  
He bowed to her. "Then, we shall see you in five days."  
  
She watched him walk out of the courtyard, slipping out the west exit nearest the tower. Before going, he looked up at the window to Stephanie's room and shook his head sadly. Amarantha shared his sentiments.  
  
She shivered again, and quickly slipped back into the castle, dodging the curious looks of the servants who had already stirred. As she was walking up the stairs, she saw Shawn start down for the top. He had his shirt in his hand, and looked at her with a glare that told her he wasn't pleased.   
  
"Lovely to see you again," she snarled, looking at him with disgust. She quickly walked up the stairs, and as she passed him, Amarantha leaned in to whisper in his ear. "You **were** incredible last night." She smiled victoriously as he gasped when she flicked her tongue against his ear, and then proceeded up the stairs.  
  
  
  
  
Shawn walked through the doors into the main hall with heavy steps. **Damn that woman** he thought bitterly. He always felt rotten the day after they were together. Amarantha had an effect on him that made him feel like an uncertain teenager, newly awakened in the world. She brought him to his knees with just one word.  
  
He loved her, he supposed. That was the only word to describe the feeling that swelled in his chest whenever she entered a room, not exactly lighting it up, but doing something to it. He looked up at the portrait of Shane that seemed to be staring him down, accusing him of betrayal. Shawn had no allegiance to him to betray, but still, the guilt weighed on his heart. He felt as though he had taken advantage of her in a time of turmoil in her life. Shane had just died, she was vulnerable, and he had used that to his advantage.  
  
The only one he was betraying was Vincent, and if the old man found out, it would be his neck. Shawn would be dead in Vincent's eyes if he knew that he was sleeping with Amarantha. He knew of the feelings Vincent had for his daughter, but Vincent didn't even enter in his mind when he and Amarantha had first been together. What was worse was that Vincent had made him a key player in his plan, and wouldn't it be a shock when Shawn just stood there when the moment came. He would never betray the man under any other circumstances, but Amarantha was a circumstance that left him torn between what to do.  
  
He would never hurt her, and he certainly wouldn't help Vincent destroy her. When he had refused to take on the task, Vincent had been enraged, cursing him for his weakness. He didn't know of the real reason why Shawn wouldn't be a part of his plan.  
  
Shawn looked up at the portrait of Amarantha. She was a damned cold woman, it was true, but the way she put fire into him made him weak. Just one look from those dark eyes was enough to cripple him. Being with her was the only thing on his mind sometimes, and he really didn't need the distraction. If he could have married her and taken her away from the castle and from her father, he would have done it. That would never happen. She was still in love with Shane, and his ghost came between Shawn and real happiness. Amarantha would never be unfaithful to Shane in her heart, though she had been with her body many times.  
  
He could never tell if she was just toying him, making him a pawn in the chess game that she had become so good at over the years. Sometimes, she would look up at him while they were making love, and he swore that he could see a flicker of true emotion in her eyes. Then she would say the coldest thing she could think of and make him second guess himself.  
  
Her soul was dark, that much he knew. She was a McMahon, and they were all the same--except for Shane. He had been as pure as the snow in which he was born. It was a blatant clash of personalities. How they had managed to fall in love and create three beautiful children was something Shawn would never understand.  
  
He smiled. He would love to see her carrying his child. It was surprising that it hadn't happened yet. Then again, it would be impossible to tell exactly whose child it was if she were pregnant. He knew Amarantha didn't give her affection exclusively to him. It didn't matter. He only came crawling back to her.   
  
"Shawn, my boy," Vincent's voice suddenly rang out through the main hall.  
  
Shawn turned and smiled at Vincent as he came from the east hall. "Good morning, did you sleep well?"  
  
Vincent scowled. "Not a damn bit. I keep thinking about it, and I'm wondering if we made the right choice by involving him."   
  
Shawn shrugged. "It's your show. I feel his quite trustworthy, and I am confident that he will succeed in his endeavor."  
  
Vincent clapped him on the back. "Let's hope so. Are you up for a ride?"  
  
Shawn looked at the older man's injured knee. "The question is, are you up for a ride?"  
  
Vincent smiled and patted his leg. "Good as new. I've still got some kick left in me."  
  
"Then, by all means," Shawn said, extending his arm towards the hall that lead to the back of the castle and to the stables.  
  
Before exiting the main hall, Shawn looked up at the portrait of Amarantha again. Her day would come, and it was rapidly approaching. He only hoped that he could do something to protect her.  
  
  
  
  
"Mother, why is Grandfather unhappy with you about the party?" Hannah asked suddenly, looking up from the manuscript that she was reading.   
  
Amarantha stared at her from her chair in the corner of the library. "Darling, your grandfather is unhappy with me about everything, not just the party."  
  
"Why?" Hannah asked. She had been lying in the floor, but pushed herself up and sat with her feet curled beneath her.  
  
Brandon looked down from second story of the library. He was climbing a small ladder to reach a book on one of the upper shelves. "Hannah, don't be so intrusive. It is none of your business."  
  
Amarantha shook her head. "It's perfectly all right, Brandon. You three have a right to know these things."  
  
Cage came to stand behind Amarantha, his hand on the back of her chair. "I have been wondering the same thing for years, Mother."  
  
"We thought it best to never tell you," she explained, "until you were old enough to look upon us without any bias. Sometimes when you hear something terrible about someone you love, you would rather not believe it because of some obligation to family. You three are now old enough to not only see me as your mother, but also as a woman who had made mistakes."  
  
Brandon climbed down the ladder and leaned over the rail. "Well, do tell, Mother. I'm dying to know the secrets of this family."  
  
Amarantha caught her breath. "Brandon, how many times have I told you not to lean over the rail that way. You could fall."   
  
He backed up, putting up his hands.  
  
She nodded, and then turned back to Hannah, who was looking at her with rapt attention. "Now, you know that your father and I were adopted siblings."  
  
Hannah nodded, her wild dark hair flying around her face. "Yes, we know."  
  
"Well, your grandfather had a problem with us being together," she continued. "Even though he knew we loved each other, he just couldn't accept us being married. My marriage to your father was only the tip of the iceberg. Ever since your grandmother died, your grandfather has had some hostility toward me. I don't know why, but he does."  
  
"So, marrying Father was just the last straw?" Brandon asked, looking down at them with a confused look.  
  
Amarantha nodded. "Exactly. When your father…died," she had to choke out the words, "your grandfather had a very hard time dealing with it. He missed your father terribly, the way we all did. He's just old and bitter."  
  
"So, why does he have a problem with what you decided about the party?" Hannah asked, a look of understanding on her face.  
  
"Your grandfather wanted to have a formal dinner," Amarantha answered. "I thought that you three would like something a little more amusing, and he didn't agree with me. He's just sore about it. He'll be fine in a few days. I promise he won't ruin your party." She looked up at  
Cage. "Have you decided on your costume yet?"  
  
Cage nodded his head. "Brandon and I are both going dressed as Father in the portrait."  
  
Amarantha gasped. The thought of seeing one of them looking so much like Shane was hard enough to deal with, but **both** of them? It was too much. She tried to hide her surprise and displeasure with a smile. "How lovely."  
  
"Mother, I have my costume all ready to go," Hannah said suddenly with a devious smile.  
  
Amarantha looked at her daughter with a raised eyebrow and a smile. "So I hear," she replied. Hannah gave her a secret smile. "What have you decided to go as?"  
  
"The queen of the fairies," she answered proudly.  
  
Cage rolled his eyes. "Honestly, Hannah, you and your silly mystical fantasies. You need to learn to be practical. Having your head in the clouds won't get you anywhere."  
  
"Neither will having your head in your ass, but you seem to have mastered that beautifully," she replied with a smile.   
  
"Hannah!" Amarantha gasped. Brandon chuckled from above them, and as Cage stared at her with a look of shock, Amarantha found herself laughing. Her children certainly were marvels. Shane would be proud.   
  
  
  
  
After leaving the children in the library, Amarantha found herself wandering the gardens of the castle. Under normal circumstances, hardly any of the flowers in the large area would have been blooming so late in the year, but Hannah had created some special powder that she sprinkled on the ground each spring that enabled the garden to be in bloom all the way until the first frost of winter. Hannah, like her aunt, had immense power, and she was just learning how to harness it, with Mark's help. She was thirsting for knowledge, and he had been eager for new pupil since Amarantha had abandoned his teaching years ago. Her power was limited to small tricks and minimal influence on those around her. She had once been able to "push" a nosy stable boy into believing that he had killed someone and therefore had to end his life. It had been a thrilling breakthrough that made Amarantha anxious to further her instruction, but Shane knew of his wife's dealings with the sorcerer Mark, and he asked her to discontinue the lessons. She obeyed immediately, unwilling to let her selfish desires come between she and Shane. She would have given up anything for him.   
  
Amarantha took a deep breath, inhaling the sweet scent of the flowers, and sat down on a stone bench in the middle of the rose garden. The minutes were ticking by, and the time was drawing near. **Shane, forgive me for what I must do** she thought. **There is no other way** She listened to the wind, trying to latch on to any inkling of him, but found nothing. For the moment, Shane had left her alone to think about what she was going to do.  
  
"Amarantha, is that you?" a voice suddenly called, breaking Amarantha's concentration.  
  
Her head shot up, and she peered through the roses to find Jean Paul staring at her. "Jean Paul, what are you doing here? I thought you had gone home last night."  
  
Jean Paul came around the corner, shaking his head. "No, your father thought it best that I remain here for the night instead of making the trip home in the darkness. I was grateful for I was exhausted."   
  
Amarantha gathered up the folds of her sapphire gown and made room for him to sit. "Please, have a seat," she said with a smile.   
  
Jean Paul accepted the offer with a gracious nod and sat down beside her. "Is everything all right? You looked distressed when I saw you sitting here."  
  
She shook her head. "I'm fine, Jean Paul. I was just thinking about the big party next week. You will be there, won't you?"   
  
He nodded. "Yes, of course. I wouldn't miss it for the world."   
  
She smiled. "The children do adore you so, and so do I."   
  
His look softened. "You do?"  
  
Amarantha looked at him strangely. "Of course, darling."  
  
Jean Paul looked away from her and put his hands together. "Amarantha, I need to tell you something."   
  
She put her hand on his arm. "What is it, Jean Paul? You can tell me."  
  
He shook his head. "No, I can't, and that's just the problem. I've been trying to tell you this for years, and I've never been able to get past the beginning."  
  
Amarantha smiled. "It's all right, Jean Paul. Just say what is in your heart, and you will see that it's not so difficult."   
  
"Say what's in my heart," he muttered, as if not understanding the words. He looked up at her, his eyes shining. "All right, here's what's in my heart. I love you."  
  
Amarantha gasped. His words sent shock racing through every part of her body. Such an unexpected and heartfelt confession. "You love me?" she asked, arching her eyebrows.  
  
"Yes, I love you," he repeated, turning his whole body to her. "I've loved you for as long as I can remember, but you never noticed me. You had Shane, and I was miserable. I couldn't say anything because he was my best friend, and that's just not something that you do. I didn't  
want to say this so soon after his death either, but, dammit, Amarantha, I can't help it any more. I had to tell you."   
  
Amarantha looked away, in an attempt at being coy, but in her head, her mind was racing. Adding Jean Paul to the roster would most certainly ensure that she would be safe come the night of the full moon. Why else would Vincent have called him to an urgent meeting? She was blind to have not realized it sooner. Shawn wouldn't be of any use to her father, she knew that, and he had probably refused to be a part of the plan. Her father had to find someone else willing to help him. Jean Paul was the only logical choice. If she extended her hand to him, feigning affection at this, his most vulnerable point, there would be no way he could go through with whatever Vincent had planned for him. He would be just like Shawn-trapped by desire and damned by love.  
  
She turned back, her eyes wide and sparkling. "Oh, Jean Paul, why didn't you say something sooner?"  
  
He did a double take. "What?"  
  
Amarantha gave him her most radiant smile. "I think I love you, too, Jean Paul."  
  
He smiled, his eyes dancing. "You do?"   
  
She nodded, taking his hands in hers. "I've tried to hard to deny my feelings because I was afraid of hurting Shane. But Shane is gone, and he is never coming back to me. He's dead, but I'm not. I want to live again. I've been dead in my heart for so long."  
  
"Amarantha…" he stammered, unable to find the words.  
  
She put a finger to his lips, leaning in close. "Help me feel alive again, Jean Paul. Show me that I still have a heart beating in my chest-a heart that beats only for you."  
  
He leaned forward and pressed his lips to hers, and inside, Amarantha was rejoicing. It had been even easier than seducing Shawn that first time. Jean Paul was just **giving** himself to her, and Amarantha was facing him with arms wide open and ready to receive him.  
  
She put her arms around his neck and pulled herself into his lap as his lips traveled down her neck, leaving a trail of kisses. She threw her head back as he kissed the tops of her breasts that were displayed by her low-cut dress, and giggled as his hands traveled over her body.  
  
Amarantha then noticed that Stephanie was staring at her from the window, shaking her head. Amarantha glared at her sister and put a finger to her lips. Stephanie nodded, and then drew back from the window. Amarantha breathed easily again.  
  
When she felt Jean Paul's fingers fumble with the clasp on the back of her dress, she pulled back from him. "Not here, my love. Someone might see, and then we'd both be in trouble," she cooed, touching his cheek with the knuckles of her curled fingers. "Stay another night in the castle, and come to me as soon as everyone is asleep. I'll be waiting for you." She pressed her lips to his briefly, then stood up and began walking back toward the castle.  
  
"I love you, Amarantha," he called to her.  
  
Amarantha stopped dead in her tracks. **I love you, Amarantha** Shane's voice floated through her head. She had never said those words to any man besides Shane. She took a deep breath and turned around to face him. "I simply adore you, as well, darling."  
  
He smiled, and Amarantha turned back to continue on her way. She had managed to escape saying those sacred words, and he had believed what she said. For some reason, Amarantha felt that Jean Paul would be much easier to break than Shawn.  
  
She would soon find out, that she was wrong--dead wrong.  
  
  
  
  
Amarantha lay naked in the darkness of her bedroom. She felt terrible. Shawn had come to her again, and she had to turn him away harshly. She told him that she wasn't feeling well, and she hated herself for lying to him. What could she say? "Oh, I'm sorry that you can't come in tonight. I'm going to sleep with someone else." She would just have to find a way to juggle them both.  
  
Her heart was racing, and she didn't know why. The first time with someone was always awkward, but she was actually nervous. That hadn't happened since her first time with Shane, her first time with anyone, actually. What did that mean? Amarantha shook her head. It didn't mean anything. It was just a stupid feeling that would pass, and nothing more.  
  
The doorknob began to turn quietly. Amarantha took a deep breath and stretched out, turning on her side with a smile on her face. Jean Paul came inside the room slowly. He was shirtless, and Amarantha could see his muscular chest in the moonlight. He turned and looked at her, then put his head down as though he were embarrassed.  
  
Amarantha put her hand on her hip. "Is something wrong, Jean Paul?"  
  
He shut the door behind him, shaking his head. "No, it is just, well…"   
  
She smiled at his uncomfortable state. "Have you never seen a woman without her clothes on?" she teased.   
  
He scratched the back of his neck. "Yes, I have but…"  
  
"But?" she asked, arching her eyebrows.  
  
"I've just never seen you without your clothes on," he replied, looking up at her.  
  
Amarantha chuckled at the sweet comment, then set her eyes on him. "Come here, my darling."  
  
He nodded, and then stepped forward, falling onto the bed with her. His lips found hers, and Amarantha moaned deep in the back of her throat as his tongue slid past her lips. She put her arms around him, pulling him to her. The sensation of his bronzed flesh touching hers sent a shock of pleasure though her, and she knew that, for the first time, she wanted another man besides Shane. She could tell that he wanted her as well, as he grew hard and rubbed against her bare leg.   
  
"Jean Paul," she whispered against his lips, his breath hot on her face. "I want to feel you inside me, right now. I don't think I can stand it any longer."  
  
He nodded in agreement, and quickly shed his pants. He wrapped his arms tenderly around her, and when he entered her, he was slow and gentle, sending waves of pleasure running through her body. It was never slow and gentle with Shawn-they made love in furious passion, trying to make each other as angry as possible. Jean Paul treated her with a tenderness that she hadn't felt since she and Shane had made love the last night he had been alive.  
  
"Amarantha, are you all right?" Jean Paul whispered sweetly, stopping his motion.  
  
She smiled at him and nodded. "I'm wonderful, my darling." She pressed her lips to his, and wrapped her legs around his waist, pushing him further inside her. She could feel herself nearing her climax, and she knew that she couldn't stand many more of his thrusts. She moaned his name softly, and her breath began to grow short. She felt dizzy and lightheaded. His thrusts began to grow quicker, more insistent, and she knew that he was ready to burst. Amarantha reached down between them and put her hand around his manhood. He gasped, and gave one final thrust that sent them both over the edge. He collapsed on top of her as his seed shot into her, and she shivered with the most intense wave of pleasure that she could ever remember having.  
  
Amarantha placed kisses all over his face, running her fingers through his hair. He smiled and kissed her back, then buried laid his head on her stomach. "I love you, Amarantha," he whispered.   
  
"I love you, too," she answered without thinking. The words had come out before she could stop them, and as Jean Paul drifted off to sleep, tears rolled over Amarantha's cheeks.  
  
**What have I done?** she thought miserably, and vaguely, she wished for Shane.  
  
  
  
  
During the next few days, Amarantha and Jean Paul couldn't seem to get enough of each other. Every stolen moment was filled with heated kisses and clumsy caresses. Amarantha felt giddy around him, like she had when she was little and her father would spin her around until she was dizzy. She hadn't seen Shawn privately since that first night she and Jean Paul were together, and he was in a foul mood every time they met. It did pain her to see him in such distress, but she was so happy herself that it didn't make much of a difference.  
  
Amarantha didn't know what was happening to her. Her relationship with Jean Paul was just insurance that he wouldn't help her father, but something had grown between them. She felt something for him-the desire to be around him whenever she could, the butterflies in her stomach when he entered a room, the way her body responded to his touch. What had happened to her? She was letting business get in the way of pleasure. Her original goal was to make Jean Paul a helpless lackey on his knees the way Shawn and Mark were, but somewhere along the way, she realized that she was the helpless one.  
  
The night of the triplets' party was only two days away, and Amarantha had to tear herself away from Jean Paul in order to prepare. The house was already being decorated for the event, and R.S.V.P.'s were flying in from all over the country. The McMahons had many friends outside of the small village, people who begged to be invited to an event at the castle. Things had to go perfectly.   
  
Amarantha climbed the stairs to Stephanie's room again, determined to speak to her one more time before the big night. She found her sister sitting cross-legged on the floor sewing something. Stephanie looked up with a smile.  
  
"How is Jean Paul, sister?" she asked evilly.  
  
Amarantha sneered. "He is fine. I did not come to talk about him, Stephanie. I need to know if you've seen anything else that could be important to me."  
  
"Hatred and anger see no allegiance lines, sister," Stephanie intoned gravely. "Their hearts know only what is bred in them. Nothing shall stop His plans."  
  
Amarantha knew that when Stephanie said "Him," she didn't mean the almighty. "Is there anything else?"   
  
"The Captive knows much of His plan," Stephanie continued dryly, "and will be instrumental in the grand design. The Raven is pure at heart, and innocence shall be its undoing. Keep the God-sent close."   
  
Amarantha wanted to scream. Her sister's ramblings meant nothing to her. "As usual, I have no idea what you are talking about, Stephanie."   
  
Stephanie looked back to the black cloth she was mending. "The Dark One is not happy."   
  
"Mark?" Amarantha asked, looking at her strangely.  
  
Stephanie nodded. "Yes, he knows of your…association with Jean Paul. He is displeased, and will come to see you at Shane's grave."  
  
Amarantha nodded her head, understanding. "I will go immediately."   
  
She turned to leave, gathering the green silk of her dress in her hands, and as she reached the door, Stephanie spoke again.   
  
"You love him, Amarantha," she whispered fiercely. "Shane knows you do. You can't lie to him."  
  
A tear rolled over Amarantha's cheek. "I care about him, that is all. I will never love anyone the way that I love Shane."  
  
"Remember what the most powerful weapon is, sister," she rasped.  
  
Amarantha stopped. "And what is that, Stephanie?"  
  
"The heart," Stephanie replied, and then began to laugh, cackling maniacally.  
  
Amarantha shivered.  
  
  
  
  
Amarantha approached Shane's grave, the usual gift of an amaranth in her hand. She pressed it to her lips and put it on the ground in front of the headstone. "The time is upon us, dearest Shane. Please forgive me for what I must do. I know you understand."  
  
"What are you doing with him?" Mark's deep voice said suddenly.  
  
Amarantha whirled around quickly, and nearly crashed into him. They were nearly chest to chest--well, would have been if she were any taller or he were any shorter, and he looked down at her coldly.   
  
"What are you talking about, darling?" she managed to squeak out through chattering teeth. He made her suddenly cold.   
  
"Don't play games with me, Amarantha," he hissed. "I know you better than that, and you should know better than to lie." He grabbed her roughly by the arms. "What are you doing with him?"  
  
Amarantha had never been afraid of Mark before, but the gleam in his eye was something so evil that it shot straight to her soul. "He's part of the plan, I know he is. I am only making sure that I am safe from him. That's all."  
  
"That's not all," Mark replied, releasing her, but not stepping back. "Are you really that blind, Amarantha? Can't you see that you've fallen for him? He's playing your own game against you."  
  
"That is ridiculous," she spat at him. "I have him where I want him, and he will not be of any use to my father, that I can assure you."  
  
"I hope, for your sake, that you are right," Mark whispered, looking her dead in the eye. "If anything goes wrong, you'll be the one to pay for it, my lady. That I can assure you."  
  
Amarantha gasped, then regained her composure. She smiled, and put a shaking hand up to touch his cold cheek. He flinched, pulling back slightly, then relaxed and permitted her to touch him. "My dark angel, why are you so angry with me?"  
  
He looked down, avoiding her eyes. "I am not angry. Perhaps it is jealousy," he grumbled, and she knew how hard it was for him to say the words. He had never been very comfortable with sharing his feelings openly with other people. "It has been so long since you were with someone, and I am used to having your attention all to myself. It is difficult."  
  
"What about Shawn?" she asked, running her hand along his jaw line. She had barely noticed that his arms had found themselves around her waist. She leaned into him gently.  
  
He rolled his eyes. "Shawn is just for sport, we both know that." He looked down at her, his eyes incredibly sad. "I can feel the change in you, Amarantha. You care for him more than you should."  
  
Amarantha scowled, resting her hand on his chest. "Stephanie said the same thing. I tell you honestly, it is not what you think. I care for him, but I do not love him. I'll love no one but Shane for as long as I live."  
  
"Not even me?" he asked, innocently. She knew that he was mocking her.   
  
She smiled. "You're a different circumstance. You know how I feel about you." She stood on her tip-toes and pressed her lips briefly against his. "Now," she said once they had broken, "have I convinced you? Will you now believe me when I say that my relationship with Jean Paul is merely for insurance?"  
  
He nodded weakly, staring her straight in the eye. "As long as you believe me when I say that you will pay for it if something goes wrong. There is more at stake here than you know." With that, he drew away from her, bowed, then began walking back towards the woods.  
  
Once he was gone, Amarantha put her head in her hands. **What am I doing?** she thought. Mark knew there was more between Amarantha and Jean Paul than what she had said, and Stephanie had known the same thing. Amarantha didn't realize how much he meant to her until her most trusted friend had brought it to mind. The balance of power had shifted, and suddenly, Amarantha felt as though she were the one on the losing end. Did she love him? Had it been so long since she had loved a person instead of a ghost that she didn't know what love felt like anymore? **Oh, Shane, what have I done to you?**  
  
She turned around back to Shane's grave and gasped.  
  
The amaranth had not bloomed like it had every other time.  
  
It was dead-dried up and dead.  
  
The sky had grown dark, and Amarantha hadn't noticed, and it rumbled with thunder in the distance. On the breeze that blew past her, Amarantha felt Shane, and she knew he was angry.  
  
He knew what Amarantha herself had been trying to deny-  
  
She was in love with Jean Paul.  
  
  
  
  
Cage stuck his head in the door of his grandfather's study. "Grandfather?" he called.  
  
"Come in, Cage," Vincent replied from his seat at the desk. He looked up and smiled at his favorite grandchild. "I'm glad you're here. We need to discuss the plans for the party."  
  
Cage entered the room cautiously, shutting the door behind him. "Yes, Grandfather, we do."   
  
"Is everything set?" Vincent asked, pushing back from the desk.  
  
"Yes, but-"  
  
"No," Vincent said sternly. "I don't want to hear that indecisive tone in your voice ever again. You cannot back out on me now."  
  
"Grandfather, I don't think that I can do it," he mumbled, dropping his head.  
  
Vincent put his hands on his grandson's shoulders and forced him to look up into the old man's eyes. "Cage, do I need to remind you of why you are doing it?"  
  
"No, I am well aware of the reasons," he snapped, pulling away from Vincent's grip. "It's just-well, she's our mother. For all her faults, she is our mother, and your daughter. How can you do this to your own daughter?"  
  
Vincent's eyes grew cold. "She stopped being my daughter the day she married your father."  
  
Cage recoiled at his grandfather's cold words.  
  
Vincent looked up at him. "I am grateful that they created you, my boy, but if it hadn't been for that woman, my son would still be alive."   
  
"Mother did not kill him!" Cage shouted, pointing a finger at him.   
  
"She did not take his life, Cage," Vincent agreed. "She made him weak. For years, she sucked the life out of him and destroyed everything I had taught him. He wasn't strong like you, Cage."   
  
Cage sighed. "The fact remains, I do not think that I will be able to do it when the time comes."   
  
Vincent scoffed, enraging Cage. "I think you will, my boy. Just remember what he has done to you. He's taken away your birthright. He's stripped you of everything that should be yours. Isn't that motivation enough?"  
  
The old man's words stirred something in Cage's blood. That fire that Vincent had bred into him flared in his eyes, and he nodded slowly. "As always, Grandfather, you are right." He looked up at Vincent. "Everything is set. You will not have to doubt me."  
  
Vincent smiled, clapping Cage on the shoulder. "You truly are a McMahon, Cage. You are strong; much stronger than your father."  
  
Cage smiled, glad he could make his grandfather proud.  
  
  
  
  
The Night of the Full Moon  
  
"Mother, are you almost ready?" Brandon called through the door. He adjusted the high collar of his father's outfit. "The people are starting to talk."  
  
"Oh, let them talk," she shouted. "I'm not coming down until the time is right. Go and enjoy your party."  
  
"Don't you even want to see how I look?" he asked hopefully.   
  
He heard the lock on his mother's bedroom door turn, and it opened just a slit. Her dark eyes peered out at him, then the door opened more. Brandon averted his eyes at the sight of his mother in her underclothes.  
  
Amarantha gasped. Brandon was an exact replica of his father. Everything, down to the way he held his head-so proud, so full of confidence, was the same. "Oh, my darling, you look exactly like your father."  
  
"Really?" he asked, straightening his jacket.  
  
She nodded, her eyes filling with tears. "Oh, yes, darling, you do."  
  
Brandon blushed.  
  
"He would be proud of you," she said, a tear slipping over her cheek.   
  
"That's all I have wanted, Mother," he replied.  
  
Amarantha leaned forward and put her hand on her son's cheek. "You're a man today, my dear. Go and enjoy yourself. I'll be down shortly."  
  
He nodded. "Have you seen Cage?"  
  
Amarantha thought for a moment. "Yes, he asked to give you a message to meet him in the library. He's probably there."  
  
Brandon nodded, then made a bow. "I shall see you soon."   
  
Amarantha blew him a kiss, and then sank back inside her room to finish dressing.  
  
If she had known that it would be the last time she saw her son alive, she would have said something more.  
  
  
  
  
"Cage?" Brandon yelled into the library. "Are you in here?"  
  
"I am here, brother," Cage called from the second level. He was dressed in an ensemble exactly like his twin brother's. Brandon shook his head, and then headed for the spiral stairs that lead to the second floor.  
  
"What are you doing in here?" Brandon asked. "We should be at the party. It is for us, you know."   
  
Cage nodded. "I know, but only one of us is going to make it."  
  
Brandon barely had time to reflect on his words before Cage turned on him with cat-like speed. Brandon barely saw the flash of the silver dagger before Cage drove it into the center of his brother's chest. The sharp pain shot straight to Brandon's pure heart, and the blood flowed freely, staining the front of his snow-white shirt. He collapsed to the floor in a heap.  
  
Cage looked down at his twin, tossing the dagger over the railing. "First born, first to die," he hissed, picking up his brother. "You had everything, brother mine. You were his favorite, you were the heir-everything went to you! And Mother! She treated you like a god, and barely noticed that I exist. That's going to change. As of tonight, everyone will notice me!"  
  
He dragged his brother to the edge of the walkway and threw him over without a moment's hesitation. He watched his brother fall, and smiled at the sickening sound of bone's crunching against hard wood floor. Brandon was dead; Cage could tell by the angle his head had hit and how his neck had been turned. It was an instantaneous and painless death-better than his brother deserved. His blood seeped out from beneath him, snaking across the floor.  
  
"You should have taken Mother's advice and stayed away from the edge," he hissed. "She told you that you would fall one day, and that day has come."  
  
Cage backed away from the edge, and while keeping his eye on the family portrait hanging above the library fireplace, he withdrew a piece of rope with a noose at the end of it. He methodically tied one end to the railing that ran along the upper-level walkway, and then put the noose around his neck.  
  
"All for you…" he whispered, fixing his eyes on his grandfather, and then he jumped over the edge.  
  
His neck was broken instantly, and Cage's dark eyes looked up at his grandfather-the fire behind them had gone out. The only sound in the library was that of the swaying of Cage's corpse.  
  
  
  
  
Amarantha put her purple crystal ear-bobs on and peered at her reflection in the mirror. She looked wonderful, and her dress would make her the hit of the party. She was going as Guinevere, bride of King Arthur and lover of Sir Lancelot. It was fitting, she supposed.  
  
Still, the gloom of the evening that would follow hung over her like a cloud. Mark and Kane would be arriving shortly, and then her plan would come full circle. She took a deep breath and thought of the dead amaranth on Shane's grave. He would forgive her, she knew. For everything.  
  
There was a knock at her door. "Who is it?" she called.  
  
"It's Jean Paul, Amarantha," he answered.  
  
Amarantha wrapped herself in a dressing gown and threw a cover over her dress that was sitting in the corner. She checked her appearance in the mirror before opening the door and pulling Jean Paul in with a sharp yank.  
  
She slammed him up against the door once he was inside and mashed her painted lips again, not caring if it smeared. He kissed her back for a moment, and then gently pushed her away. "Amarantha, we need to talk."  
  
She looked at him crossly. "Is something wrong?"  
  
"Yes, something is very wrong," he replied, beginning to pace around the room. "I need to tell you something. You had better sit down."  
  
Amarantha took a chair in front of her vanity mirror, her heart in her throat. **What is going on?** "Jean Paul, is there something wrong between us?"  
  
He whirled on her, his face furious and his eyes flashing. "There is no US, Amarantha! That's just it."  
  
"What are you talking about?" she chirped, her hand flying to her throat.  
  
"I've been trying to tell you this from the very first moment in the garden," he raged, glaring at her. "I don't love you! I never did!"  
  
"Excuse me?" she squeaked, tears filling up her dark eyes.  
  
"It was all a lie," he continued, pointing at her. "I was your father's master plan! He asked me to do this to you! He told me to feign interest, tell you that I loved you, sleep with you, for Christ's sake! It was his plan all along. I've never felt one moment's affection for you."  
  
Amarantha didn't reply.  
  
"He promised me money in return for being a part of his plan," Jean Paul screamed. "That fucking coward Hickenbottom wouldn't do it! Your father asked him to first, knowing that the two of you have been fucking since the moment Shane went into the ground! That's why I did it, not for the money, but to get back at you!  
  
"You betrayed Shane. He loved you more than life itself, and you fucked that wizard as soon as you got the chance! You fucked Hickenbottom as soon as you got the chance! I seem to remember our afternoon in the garden. You didn't hesitate one moment before getting to me too. But that's just the thing, you cold-hearted witch. I got to you! I made you love me! I betrayed my best friend because you betrayed him too.  
  
"You're an evil woman, Amarantha McMahon. You will use anyone who comes into your life if you think it could be worth something to you. You don't care about anyone but yourself. You've driven your sister crazy, your children are fatherless, and you are not the mother that you had! No, Linda was a good woman, and she paid for that with her life. Being a part of this family killed her the way that it killed Shane.   
  
"Your father hates you as much as the rest of us do. He hates you because you destroyed the only thing that matter to him in his life. You sucked the life out of Shane the same way you did to Hickenbottom the same way you were trying to do it to me. That's what so beautiful about this-I used your own tricks against you. Who's the strong one now, you black-hearted bitch? How could anyone love a person like you?"  
  
Amarantha sat silent for a moment, reeling from the impact of the words the man she loved was saying. Everything he said was true. She felt the need to crumble into a pile on the floor and just fade away. "Get out of here right this fucking instant!" she screamed, refusing to let herself cry in front of him. That would make the victory only sweeter to her father.  
  
Jean Paul, with an evil grin, bowed gallantly in his knight's uniform. "Gladly," he hissed, then turned on his heel and left.  
  
Amarantha was alone, and the tears streamed over her cheeks. She reached for a bottle of perfumed water and hurled it against the wall. Everything had fallen apart. She had fallen in love with a lie. Jean Paul had never loved her, but she had loved him-oh, God forgive her, she  
had loved him. Her father had one. He had succeeded in destroying her, but she would get her revenge in the form of the Dark Angel and his brother.  
  
As her tears dried, Amarantha's pride was still wounded. It seemed as though a great hole inside her had re-opened. She felt the way she had just after Shane's death. Her eyes fell upon the speech that had been written for her that she would read in a matter of minutes when she made her entrance into the party.  
  
There was a page of notes that had been attached to the speech.  
  
She gasped.  
  
"Meaning of children's names," had been scrawled across the top. Her dark eyes grew wider as she read down the page.  
  
Cage Kennedy-The Captive  
Shane Brandon-The Raven  
Hannah Arrisen-The God-sent  
  
Much destruction do I see--The Captive, the Raven, and the God-sent. Blood fights blood, but water is too weak to combat. One ends with a silver reckoning, the other responsible and punished by the braid. The remaining struck down by the source in chance. With them signals the end, and all shall fall there after. Piety shall be the savior of one, and wrath what damns another. The emerald star keeps the other safe, but not saved, and he that bridges will resurrect. None shall 'scape the messenger, who will walk again and bring forth the fury of the beyond on the night of the full moon. Those had been Stephanie's words.  
  
Amarantha stood up and pulled on her gown. Once she was dressed, she threw open the door and flew down the hall toward the library.   
  
  
  
  
Amarantha barreled down the hallway toward the library. Her heart was racing in her chest. Jean Paul's betrayal and the overall shock of the turn of events that had taken second to Amarantha's protective maternal instincts. Her children were more important than anything-she would have her revenge on them all in time.  
  
As she rounded the corner leading to the west corridor, Amarantha breezed past Mark and Kane, both dressed in identical black hooded capes. She didn't stop. Something was pulling her, almost calling her to library.  
  
"Amarantha!" Mark shouted, watching her blast past them.   
  
"I can't! I just can't!" she warbled, stumbling. "I've got to get to my babies!" They began following her toward the library.   
  
Blood fights blood…hatred and anger see no allegiance lines…their hearts know only what is bred in them…The Captive knows much of His plan and will be instrumental in the grand design…The Raven is pure at heart, and innocence shall be its undoing…  
  
Amarantha had already crashed through the library door when Mark and Kane caught up with her.   
  
"What in the name of…" Mark's voice trailed off as he saw Amarantha cradling the limp body of one of her sons as the other hung lifelessly above her from the walkway. Kane watched the door as Mark cautiously approached the furious woman. "Amarantha, I am so sorry."  
  
She gently tousled Brandon's hair. "I am, too. I am sorry I couldn't have stopped him before this happened." She bent her head and placed a gentle kiss on Brandon's forehead and carefully closed his eyes.   
  
There were no tears to shed. That time would come later. Now was the time to focus. She would make her father pay for all that he had done.   
  
"Mark, get him down from there, please," Amarantha whispered, struggling to her feet. She looked at the dagger on the floor where it had landed, and began to chuckle.  
  
Mark looked down at her as he began climbing the ladder. "What in the hell could be amusing at a time like this?"  
  
She whirled on him. "Stephanie said 'one ends with a silver reckoning'" she pointed to the dagger, "'and the other responsible and punished by the braid.'" She pointed to the rope from which Cage was hanging. "It makes perfect sense."  
  
"What about Hannah?" Mark asked, as Amarantha headed to the door, pushing her shoulders back.  
  
Amarantha turned on her heel. "Hannah can take care of herself. She learned from the best."  
  
Mark stood amazed as she left him and his brother alone with the twins, looking uncannily like their father even in death. She seemed to have experienced no grief for her slain sons. That was the kind of woman Amarantha was-she stored all her emotions inside, letting them swell until they exploded in an intense maelstrom from which no one was safe. Years of living in the same house as a monster like Vincent had put a dark place inside her. It was that dark place, much like his own soul, that he had fallen in love with, so deeply that he would kill for her.  
  
He **would** kill for her.  
  
  
  
  
The party going on below was loud and festive. The guests that had traveled from miles around were having a wonderful time. The musicians were keeping things going. Of course, the large amount of alcohol that was circulating was also helping.  
  
And while they were all having the times of their lives, her baby boys were dead. Vincent had driven Cage crazy with jealousy of his brother. Vincent had put Jean Paul up to destroying her. He had always resented her strength, so he had decided to break her by using her heart as his weapon-what Stephanie had said about it being the most powerful weapon was true.  
  
Now, with hatred, grief, resentment, anger, betrayal-any combination of a hundred emotions beating from that heart, Amarantha started down the stairs to join the party.  
  
The whole room stopped and watched her. She descended with her head held high, looking more beautiful than any woman in the room. She could see Vincent, on his throne. He was, after all, dressed as the King Arthur to her Guinevere. Hannah stood beside him to one side, looking precious in her beautiful fairy queen costume. She had wings of gossamer that matched the color of her extravagant gown perfectly. Jean Paul stood to the left of Vincent, refusing to meet her eye. Shawn was on his right, also dressed a knight, and he couldn't take his eyes off her-exactly the effect she desired.  
  
Applause suddenly rang out from the back of the room and spread forward like a wave until it crashed upon Amarantha as she descended the last step. She smiled graciously, curtsying and nodding to those around her. As the applause died down, she began walking toward Vincent. The crowd parted to allow her to pass.  
  
"Actually, your applause should be directed at my father," she announced loudly, looking Vincent with every step she took. "Hasn't he thrown an excellent party?"  
  
They cheered again, lifting their wine glasses. Vincent, however, did not seem as enthused. Amarantha clicked her tongue.   
  
"Now, don't be modest, Father," she cooed, stopping just in front of him. Hannah came to her side. **Keep the God-sent close** "You do deserve credit for all of this, and for the wonderful plan you devised to destroy me."  
  
Several gasps and sounds of alarm came from behind her. Hannah put her hand on her mother's arm. "Mother, what are you talking about?"  
  
Vincent shook his head. "Tell her, Father," Amarantha shouted. "Tell your grand-daughter how you put Jean Paul up to the task of seducing me and making me fall in love with him just because you've held a grudge ever since Shane and I were married. Tell her how you planned to destroy me by exposing my weakness to the world."  
  
"Amarantha, I have no idea what you're talking about," Vincent replied suddenly. "You're making a spectacle of yourself, and you're ruining the party. This is supposed to be about the triplets."   
  
Amarantha nodded. "You're right, Father, but you should know better than anyone that only one of them is alive to enjoy it."  
  
"What?" Hannah gasped.  
  
"Brandon and Cage are dead!" she announced, still staring her father down, their identical dark eyes fighting for control. He flinched at hearing the news of Cage's suicide. "My sons are dead because this monster convinced Cage to kill his brother because Brandon had stolen his birth right by being the first born. Cage hanged himself after the job his grandfather had hired him to do was completed."  
  
Tears began rolling over Hannah's cheeks. She turned to Vincent. "Is it true, Grandfather?"   
  
Vincent set his jaw. The news of Cage's death had come as a surprise to him. He didn't answer Hannah.   
  
"Tell them, Father, how you had your own grandson killed, how you manipulated his twin brother into killing him because you were too much of a coward to do it yourself!" Amarantha continued to shout, her voice beginning to shake. "Tell them that all the rumors are true, that you did kill my mother!"  
  
Vincent shot to his feet as the crowd gasped collectively. "Yes, it's true! All of it is true!" He stepped down from the throne, advancing on his daughter. "My hatred of you has cost me dearly, for I did love my grandson, Cage. I can't say the same for his weakling brother or the whore that brought them into the world!"  
  
The assembled guests had been stunned into silence. None of them knew what to make of the things that were being said. Even Jean Paul and Shawn looked shaken by the old man's announcements.  
  
"Yes, I sent Jean Paul to destroy you because I knew that it was the only way I could get to you," Vincent screamed like a madman. "You had to pay for destroying my son. Your love killed him, just like it killed your sons. Everything you touch turns to dust because you are a heartless evil witch who deserves everything she gets. I'm going to end it tonight. I won't let you hurt anyone else with your love!"  
  
Someone screamed as Vincent pulled a dagger out of the pocket of his robe and lashed out toward his daughter. Amarantha could do nothing as she saw him move. All she could do was think of Stephanie's words: **The remaining struck down by the source in chance**  
  
Hannah flung herself in front of her mother just as Vincent lunged. The blade plunged deep into her stomach. A blossom of crimson appeared on the front of her dress around the blade as she wrapped her arms around her grandfather. He stared at her in horror as she collapsed on the blade, then he released the handle and she crumpled to the floor at her mother's feet. She smacked the stone floor, the emerald orb pendant given to her by Mark fell out of the top of her dress. **The emerald star keeps the other safe, but not saved, and he that bridges will resurrect.**  
  
Mark suddenly appeared from the east corridor. No one dared touch the seven-foot monster as he approached Vincent and wrapped his massive hands around the old man's neck. Vincent sputtered and coughed, struggling for breath.  
  
"Let him go," Shawn's firm voice said suddenly, breaking the several minutes of standing silence. Amarantha turned and saw that he had a small silver pistol aimed right at Mark's head. "I don't want to do it, but I will."  
  
Mark looked at her, asking her with his eyes. She nodded reluctantly, and he removed his hand from his neck. Vincent steadied himself, straightening his robe before again rushing at Amarantha with a new dagger in his hand. She screamed as they collided, and she felt the  
blade sink deep into her flesh. Suddenly, Vincent's body was rocked with a tremendous force, and they fell to the ground, Amarantha's head smacking the stone floor.  
  
Shawn stared at Vincent's bleeding body with his arm extended and the pistol still smoking. The bullet had hit him square in the back. He writhed in agony on the floor and turned his body so he could look at his assassin. Shawn lowered his arm. "I'm sorry, my friend."  
  
Vincent's face was a mixture of agony and fury. "Traitor…" he hissed. Then his eyes rolled up in his head and he collapsed, dead.   
  
Someone began sobbing, setting off a chain reaction of panic. People began running from the room as Mark collapsed beside Amarantha. His hand went to the dagger that was still buried deep in her abdomen, but she shook her head. "No, it is too late."  
  
"Amarantha…" he whispered.  
  
She turned her head to look at her slain daughter. "Take her soul with you when you return to your dark world. She knew all along that it would happen."  
  
He nodded, taking her hand in his. "The Emerald Star was her protection. It always has been."   
  
Amarantha's vision began to grow blurry as Shawn appeared over her. She managed a weak smile. "Even now, I won't beg for mercy."  
  
Tears flowed freely from his eyes. "I love you, Amarantha."  
  
She nodded. "I know, my darling. Aren't you glad I didn't love you back? You would be dead now."  
  
"Oh, God," he sobbed, crashing the floor beside her to take her other hand.  
  
Suddenly, there was a gasp. All eyes turned to the west corridor. Amarantha used all her strength to look up--it was Stephanie, wearing a long, exquisite black gown, the one she had been sewing the last time Amarantha had seen her. Her appearance was radically different. Her skin had a rosy hue, her eyes were sparkling, and she had the most beautiful smile on her face that Amarantha had ever seen. Kane walked in behind her, one of the twins in each arm. They walked through the silent crowd and came to a stop just before Amarantha.  
  
Stephanie looked down at her dying sister. "The Raven," she gestured to Brandon, "The Captive," she gestured to Cage, "and the God-sent," and she pointed a hand down to Hannah. A snarl formed on her lips as she looked down at her father. "There is the source." Her eyes fell upon Mark. "He is the one who bridges." Stephanie sighed and looked down at Amarantha. "Didn't I tell you it would be this way, sister? Didn't I warn you of what would happen? Everything I have said has come true."  
  
Amarantha shook her head weakly. "Where is the Messenger? You said that none would escape the Messenger, who will walk again and bring forth the fury of the beyond. Where is this Messenger?"   
  
A small evil grin spread across Stephanie's pink lips. She pointed to the top of the stairs. Amarantha looked-  
  
It was Shane.  
  
Or rather, a slightly different version of Shane than what Amarantha remembered. He was dressed all in white, and descended the stairs with a graceful ease that led Amarantha to believe that he was floating. She looked up at Stephanie for an explanation. Stephanie merely smiled.  
  
Shane reached the bottom step, and the crowd scurried to make room for him. Most of them had gone, but the ones who had stayed and witnessed the entire horrific scene were all entranced by what they were seeing.   
  
Shane walked to Kane, who was still holding the bodies of the twins. He reached out and swiped his hand over Brandon's body with a fond smile. Brandon's corpse convulsed once, then with a guttural groan, relaxed again. Shane did the same to his other son.  
  
He walked silently over to Hannah, bent down, and put a finger to her cheek. Her body didn't move. He looked to Mark, who somehow understood what the apparition was saying without him having to say a word.  
  
Tears rolled over Amarantha's cheeks as her beloved turned to gaze upon her. He crouched beside her, shaking her head. "You've made quite a mess of things, haven't you, Ama?"   
  
She chuckled at the sound of her old nickname, and was then rocked by a tremor of pain originating in her abdomen. "Shane, you know that I never stopped-"  
  
"You don't need to say it, my darling," Shane interrupted, putting a hand to her lips. Amarantha reeled at the sensation-his finger was there, but she couldn't feel it against her lips. She felt something, a tingling almost, but not his finger. "I've known that you were faithful to me in your heart, and I've never stopped loving you either, not even in death."  
  
"But, yesterday, the amaranth-"  
  
"That was meant as a sign," he explained, his voice soft and soothing. "I was trying to warn you of what was to happen, but you've always been stubborn." He smiled at her. "It's time to go now, darling. We've got a date to see Hannah and Brandon."  
  
Her brow furrowed as the tightness in her chest grew more intense. "What about Cage?"  
  
Shane shook his head sadly. "No, Cage and our father will go somewhere else, some place where we will never see them again."  
  
"It wasn't Cage's fault!" she shouted, shaking her head. "Father tricked him into doing it."   
  
"No, Amarantha," Shane whispered. "Cage knew where his soul was when he killed his brother. He must be punished." Shane looked up at Mark and Shawn. "Thank you for taking such good care of her while I was gone."  
  
Mark nodded, and Shawn merely stared at the unbelievable spectacle before him. Shane turned his gaze to Jean Paul, who hadn't moved from his spot beside the throne since the whole terrible night has started. "I forgive you, my friend. Your conscience has been cleared by me, but I'm afraid you'll have to deal with your guilt about Amarantha on your own." Jean Paul's head dropped to his chest.  
  
Shane turned back to Amarantha. "Time to go now, my love."   
  
Amarantha smiled, nodding her head. Shane waved his hand over her body, and Amarantha's chest stopped moving. The last breath that was caught in her throat came out, and her body relaxed against the ground. The hands that Mark and Shawn were holding went limp, and they put her hands on the sides of her body. Shane looked up at Stephanie with a smile. "Thanks for inviting me, sis."  
  
She smiled, nodding. "Any time, dear brother, any time."  
  
Shane vanished.  
  
Someone screamed.  
  
Stephanie laughed.  
  
  
  
  
Epilogue  
  
The night that Vincent, Amarantha, Brandon, Cage, and Hannah McMahon left the physical world, the light returned to the halls of the castle. The darkness was gone, and Stephanie McMahon, the only remaining member of the family, inherited the estate and the fortune. She wasn't crazy, they all discovered. It had been the curse that was on the house that had driven her insane, and after the deaths of all her family members, Stephanie returned to normal life with her husband, Jean Paul.   
  
Mark and his brother disappeared into the woods forever that night, taking the body of Hannah McMahon with him. It was often reported that Mark and the girl-child were seen walking on the edge of the forest from time to time, though everyone knew that the little girl had been buried along side her brothers in the family cemetery. No one questioned the forces at work where the McMahons were concerned. Those present at the party that horrible night had learned to believe in anything.   
  
Amarantha McMahon had been pregnant at the time of her death, with Michael "Shawn" Hickenbottom's child, though neither of them had known. He lived the rest of his life at McMahon castle with the happy couple, remained out of the view of the public for many years. He never quite recovered from the shock of losing Amarantha, and he spent almost every day at her grave, where she would spend the rest of eternity beside her true love.  
  
And every year, on the anniversary of death for almost all of the McMahon family, Stephanie would venture from the castle and place a flower on her sisters grave-an amaranth that had not yet opened.  
  
It bloomed every single time, without fail.  
  
~~**THE END**~~  
  



End file.
